The Pheonix Reborn: Chapter 1
by BJ1959
Summary: A year after Harry leaves Hogwarts and Voldemort is defeated


HARRY POTTER: THE PHEONIX REBORN

Chapter One:  The End

Harry Potter awoke with a dull pain in his head. Looking around, he saw he was in the hospital wing at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry; he had spent enough time in hospital here when he was a student that he recognized his surroundings immediately and, in fact, felt strangely at home. Looking down the row of beds he saw Madam Pomfrey standing at the other end of the room speaking with someone hidden from Harry's view by a screen partially around one of the beds. He sat up and the sudden change in position made his head swim. He clutched his forehead and found that it was swathed in bandages. Madam Pomfrey saw Harry swaying and, fearing that he might faint, rushed towards him followed by a tall slim figure that emerged from behind the screen. He was dressed in dark robes and Harry saw that they were well worn and patched in several places. 

"Remus.." Even before he saw the face, Harry recognized the robes as belonging to Remus Lupin, a werewolf and wizard who had been one of his father's best friends and, for a short time, a teacher here at Hogwarts. 

"Harry, you mustn't rush about, you've been injured and need rest." Lupin's eyes showed his concern, Harry had been through quite an ordeal over the past month, it had been a pitched battle that covered most of three continents, which finally ended with the deaths of many people, some deservedly and some tragically. 

Harry sat at the edge of the bed, his head swimming. "What happened? How long have I been here?" 

"Rest, I said Harry. It's been almost a full week, there's nothing you can do now." 

Harry's eyes suddenly lit with a fire that burned through the fog in his brain. "A week? Where is he now? We must find him before he can regroup his followers." Harry lunged up and tried to walk but Remus grabbed him and firmly but gently returned him to the bed. "It's over Harry, there's no one to chase anymore." 

"You mean he's..." 

"Yes, Harry. Voldemort is dead." Lupin said, "Or at least as dead as anyone can make him." Then more quietly he added, "You did it, Harry." 

"But what about.." Harry tried to think of one person to ask about but he knew so many who had been hurt or were missing that thinking of just one was impossible. 

"Many people have died, Harry, both good and evil. Voldemort was crushed when you collapsed the walls of the Great Hall down upon him, Severus was killed then as well. Pettigrew hasn't been found, but even if he is still alive, without Voldemort he is nothing." 

"Dumbledore?" 

"I'm sorry Harry, but Albus is dead also. Voldemort's last attack finished him. He was dead by the time we could get to him." 

Harry collapsed back against his pillows, Albus Dumbledore, the most powerful wizard and the kindest man Harry had ever met was dead and it was his fault. "What about Ron and Hermione?" 

"Hermione is missing, she was badly hurt when she was portkeyed that last time and no one knows where she went. Ron has gone looking for her. I expect to hear from him at any time now." 

"What happened?" Harry asked, not knowing if he wanted to hear the answer. 

"You mean after you were knocked unconscious? That was basically the end of it. The walls of the Great Hall were collapsing. Voldemort saw it at the last minute and tried to get out but Snape lunged and grabbed him, throwing both of them into the falling debris. It was brilliant of you to do that, destroy the wall I mean. It was obvious after so many of us had attacked him magically to no avail, from Dumbledore all the way down to some first years at Beauxbatons, that Voldemort had somehow protected himself from any curses we could throw. But you, Harry, you didn't attack HIM that last time at least not with magic. Instead you struck at the walls, the fallings stones crushed him before he could portkey to anywhere else. Severus made sure of that and gave up his own life to do it." 

Harry exhaled greatly, so Dumbledore was right about that too, as much as Harry had hated Professor Snape, he was on their side after all. 

Remus continued. "After the Dark Lord was killed the battle was over. Even back at Beauxbatons, the Dementors sensed that he was gone and the fight all but left them. Oh, Sirius and the giants continued to attack them of course and the Dementors still took a good bit of killing, some of them had sucked a hundred souls and so were quite powerful, but in the end they were crushed. Some have escaped but they will be hunted down. The school itself was totally destroyed and is so haunted now by the souls released from the Dementors that no one is trying to rebuild it. Maybe someday but not for quite some time. Fudge is in Azkaban, along with those Deatheaters who haven't been killed, Lucius Malfoy, MacNair and a few others. It will be tough to guard them now that the Dementors aren't there but a way will be found." 

There was extensive damage here at Hogwarts, and not only to the Great Hall, two of the towers had collapsed. When word got out of the damage, a hundred alumni showed up to help rebuild. In fact, much of the work is already done and we should be able to start classes again on time September the first." 

"But without Dumbledore, who will be headmaster?" 

"The Board of Governors has asked Professor McGonagall to serve as Headmistress Pro Tem and she has accepted. I think they will confirm her permanently before Christmas. There are a number of faculty positions to be filled, however, and Minerva is working half the night sending out owls recruiting new teachers." 

"So, it's really over? For good?" Harry couldn't believe that the horror that had plagued him since he was a baby and the whole magical world for longer than that was finally over. 

"Yes Harry, I think so. After we examined Voldemort's body, and that was no mean feat, let me tell you, he still had at least 9 portkeys left hidden on his person.  After the third person had vanished, we moved the body to The Three Broomsticks so that whoever got sent to Goodness Knows Where could just apparate back there and not have to walk all the way back into the school.  Besides, it also meant we could stop for a stiff drink now and again.  Anyway, after we were done, Professor McGonagall transfigured the body into sand. We then gave the sand to a glass blower that smelted it down and molded it into seven glass balls, then we sealed each ball with Unbreakable Charms. Each of the seven balls was finally dropped into the deepest part of each of the seven seas, Sirius has just finished with the last of them." 

"Then Sirius is alright?" Sirius Black was Harry's godfather and, wrongly accused of being a spy for the Dark Lord and a murderer, had spent 12 years in Azkaban Prison with the Dementors, foul creatures who lived by draining all happiness and positive feelings from their victims until even their very souls were consumed. Black escaped from Azkaban and had commanded the army of giants fighting the Dementors, having a personal interest in seeing them destroyed. He was also the closest thing to family that Harry had, even though the time they had been able to spend together only amounted to less than a fortnight. "Is he coming back?" 

"No, not permanently, I don't think so. He says that, after Azkaban and the Dementors, he has had enough of cold and wants to live in the warmth of the sun. He will be returning to Hogwarts often though to visit." 

"And what about you?" 

"Minerva has asked me to return to teach the Defense Against the Dark Arts again, but things being the way they are, I will need a substitute several days each month." 

"During the full of the moon." It was a statement, not a question. With the right potions, Lupin could control the violence of his wolfine periods but not stop them. So with every full moon he locked himself into his chambers while he was in wolf form. 

"So, what do you say Harry?" Remus had a strange glint in his eye. 

"What do I say to what?" Harry was confused, what was Remus after. 

"How would you like to be my assistant, of course? I know you only graduated a year ago so you don't have the seniority to be a full Professor, but no one can question your experience. You will be teaching when I can't and assisting me during the remainder of the month." 

Harry thought for a moment. Stopping Voldemort had been all he had thought about for years and now that it was done what else was he to do. "I can't think of any reason to say no." 

"Good man. Welcome to the faculty. I hope you don't mind but I assumed that you would agree and so I've had your things moved into a room here. Your Aunt and Uncle seemed quite relieved when we came to collect your trunk. Didn't even blink at the house elves who carried it out." Harry couldn't imagine the Dursleys not blinking at a bunch of squealing house elves trooping through their oh-so-proper and oh-so-not-magical-thank-you-very-much house on Privet Drive but he guessed anything was possible. 

"You're probably tired of the Hospital Wing by now, so what do you say we troop over to your new digs. It's not much but it is homey." 

Harry stood up carefully and, with Remus and Madam Pomfrey on either side in case he fell, walked out the door. As the door closed, there was the softest of sounds, like a small animal scurrying from under one of the bedside tables.

* * *

The young woman shakily gained her feet and stumbled from beneath the tree where she lay.  She stood on an expanse of lawn that was shaggy and clearly untended for quite some time.  Ahead of her she could see a large house standing on a hill.  There would likely be people there, she thought, and He might be there as well.  She couldn't quite remember who "He" was but she knew He was evil.  He was looking for her and trying to kill her.  Something warm and sticky had run into her eyes and she raised a hand to wipe it away.  She gasped as a bolt of pain shot through her arm and cradled it to her side.  She was injured, how badly she didn't know yet but she needed to find someplace where she could hide and tend to herself.  Turning her back to the large house she ducked under the low branches of the tree and went the opposite way.

On the other side of a narrow line of trees, in a low hollow, stood a small hut.  It appeared deserted, with the door hanging half open and one hinge snapped.  Cautiously, she circled around to the rear of the hut, where there were no windows, and approached.  She stopped often to listen but no sound came to her.  It seemed empty and she circled around the side.  She peered into one of the windows and looked around.  It seemed to be a small cottage, she was looking into a bedroom, dirty and disheveled.  Circling further she reached the front of the building and the broken door.  Listening carefully, she waited.  Still no sounds came from within so she entered and quickly moved into the shadows on one side of the door and waited for her vision to adjust.

The building had obviously been abandoned for some time.  There was dirt and dust on everything.  Teenage vandals had covered the walls with graffiti and the floor with cigarette butts.  Moving into the bedroom, the bed had been stripped of linen and the thin mattress slit exposing the ticking.  Old newspapers and snack food bags littered the floor.  Although no secret, the place was out of the way enough that it might provide some security for her.  Beside the bed was a dry sink with the pitcher gone and the mirror above smashed.  The woman looked at her crazed reflection.  She was young, probably no more than twenty, with shoulder length bushy brown hair that was matted with dirt and leaves.  There was a cut on her head, above the hairline that had now stopped bleeding and bruises around her cheeks.  She was covered with dirt, as if she hadn't bathed in weeks and her clothes were tattered.  Her clothes…  She wore a dark garment that seemed to have been some sort of cape or poncho made of heavy linen, underneath she had on a cotton shift and knickers.  Inside the cape she found a label.  It read "Granger".  She didn't think it was the manufacturer so could this be her name?  On her feet were a ragged pair of sneakers and what might have at one time been socks.  The cape was beyond repair but discarding it and walking about in her underclothes was out of the question.  She would need to find some new clothes.  And a bath.

Over her shoulder she had a carryall of canvas.  She dumped the contents on the mattress and emptied her pockets.  She was carrying several large maps showing areas of Europe, Asia, and Africa.  The maps were scrawled with circles and lines that meant nothing to her.  She also had a compass and a few pencils.  In the pockets of her cape she found some coins, three of gold, five of silver, and a handful of copper, she assumed this was some kind of money but what kind she had no idea.  There was also a Boy Scout pocketknife and a strange stick of wood.  It was a rod about a foot long with an obvious grip at one end.  It looked to her to be a pointer of some sort, but what it was supposed to point at she had no idea so she set it aside.  There was no food and no matches.

Stopping to think for a moment she figured her first priority was to see how hurt she was, her right arm was very sore and she could barely move it, her scalp was cut and she was severely bruised.  Scrounging in the other room she uncovered a saucepan and, taking it outside to an old-fashioned hand pump, rinsed it out and filled it with clean water.  Going back into the bedroom, for more privacy, she carefully took off her clothes and began to wash her wounds.

She didn't think the arm was broken, just badly sprained, but only an x-ray would tell for sure and she had no intention of going to a hospital where they might ask questions that she didn't want to answer, or couldn't.  The bruises would be sore but didn't seem serious but the cut on her head, although no longer bleeding, was deep and might become infected.  She washed it as best she could then threw away the water and refilled the pan.

This time she washed herself.  It took three pots of water to get the dirt out of her hair and she used her fingers to comb it as best she could.  Three more trips to the well got her as clean as she could get without soap and a bathtub.  Finally, she tried to clean some of the grime from her clothing.  Although far from clean, she didn't think she would attract too much attention if she had to go out in public.  There was nothing to eat so she lay down on the filthy mattress and tried to rest.

* * *

After what seemed to Harry like hours of climbing staircases, his head beginning to pound with every step he took, the trio came to the end of a short passageway, the stonework here was obviously new, with three large pictures on the wall, one to the left, one ahead of them, and the third to their right.  This last one was a large painting of a Quidditch field, on it players were soaring about tossing a red ball about the size of a soccer ball between them.  Remus Lupin stopped, facing this painting and said, "Gryffindor scores."  The painting then rolled up like a window shade of it's own accord, exposing yet another spiral staircase going up.

"The rolling was Professor Flitwick's idea, it saves a good deal of space compared to having the whole frame swing out into the corridor and the players actually seem to enjoy the ride."

After climbing to the top and passing through a door, they came to a small landing leading to two rooms.  They turned to the left and entered a small sitting room, semicircular in shape.  There was a settee, two armchairs and a table between.  A short bookcase stood against the outside wall and atop it stood a strange sort of wooden statue, modernesque in design, it resembled nothing so much as a large letter "Z".  It was made of rough wood still covered with bark, almost as if it had been taken from an extremely gnarled tree.

"Yes," said Remus, even before Harry could ask, "it's from the Whomping Willow.  Professor Sprout had to do quite a bit of trimming to try to save it and I thought this would make an amusing perch for Hedwig."

Professor Sprout taught Herbology at Hogwarts and trimming the Whomping Willow, an animated tree that seemed to like nothing better than to beat to death anything that came within reach of its branches, must have been quite a difficult task.

Almost as if on cue, a large Snowy Owl flew in through an open window and circled the room before landing on the limb.

"Hello, Hedwig, it's good to see that your doing well."  In response to Harry's comment the owl clicked its beak several times and ruffled its feathers, settling into a comfortable position.

"I hope you don't mind the ceiling."  said a voice from behind them, "but the ceiling in the Great Hall has been a trademark here for centuries and we are striving to recreate it.  I thought I should have a bit of practice on a smaller scale before tackling that task."

Harry looked up and instead of seeing a ceiling above him, he was watching as a patch of soft summer clouds blew over the sun and cast the room into shadow.  Harry knew that a real ceiling was there, but it had been bewitched into transparency to show the sky above.

"I think it's lovely."  Harry turned to the voice, it belonged to Professor, now Headmistress, McGonagall.  She stood as straight as a candle in deep red robes and had her hair in her usual tight bun.

"You've done a wonderful job, Professor, it's great."

"Well, how are you feeling Mr. Potter?"  She spoke in her usual stern tone but he knew she was truly concerned.

"Alright, I guess.  I still feel tired, but I guess I can rest now."

She moved forward and embraced him hard, "Indeed, you have earned it if anyone has, come into the bedroom, dear boy, so you can lie down."

They passed back through the landing and into a bedroom on the other side, slightly smaller than the sitting room opposite, it completed the circular top of one of the towers.  Against the straight length of common wall stood a large four-poster bed hung with curtains of rich velvet.

"I though you might like some familiar things about, so I had them bring up your old bed from the Gryffindor dormitories."  She led Harry over and sat him on the bed, its softness felt wonderfully comforting to him.

"Now, Poppy, do you think these bandages might come off?"  McGonagall touched the casing of white cloth that bound Harry's head softly.

"Yes, I think his head is as healed as it's going to get." Poppy replied with a smile, she had mended enough of Harry's injuries, including re-growing all of the bones in his right arm in a single night, to have absolute confidence in her abilities.  She stepped forward and began to unwrap the coverings.

When, finally, all of the bandages were laying in a tangle on Harry's lap all three, Madam Pomfrey, Professor McGonagall, and Remus Lupin, leaned in to take a look.

"Now, I am not one to put much faith in Omens, but if I were I would say that this is a very good one." said the Headmistress.

"What are you talking about?" said Harry rather sharply.  He hated being gawked at like some sort of specimen in a jar.

Madam Pomfrey responded, "You see Harry one of the falling stones struck you on the head and, although it, fortunately, didn't fracture the skull, it caused considerable damage, including a severe concussion."

"How is that an Omen?"

"There were serious abrasions and damage to the dermis…"

"Huh?'

"Harry," said Remus stepping in, "one of the stones hit you on the head and even though it didn't crack that thick skull of yours, it did tear off most of your scalp."

"The healing went perfectly." injected Madam Pomfrey.  "There's not a hint of scarring."

At the word "scar" Harry stood and pushed through the group to a mirror standing against the curving wall.  The reflection looking back at him was no longer the skinny boy who had first come to Hogwarts eight years ago, with mended glasses and ill fitting hand-me-down clothes.  He stood slightly taller than average, though still quite thin.  Most of his unruly black hair was gone, close stubble showed where it was regrowing and shaped his high forehead.  His forehead!  It took a moment to sink in.  The lightning bolt shaped scar, caused by a death curse thrown at him by Voldemort when he was only a year old, was gone.  His forehead stood smooth and unmarked, there wasn't even a wrinkle.  His whole life people at looked at that scar.  Stared at it while trying to look like they were staring.  Strangers on the street stopped to gape at it, sometimes to shake his hand.  He was the boy with the scar.  The one who lived.  Protected by the magic of a mother who had sacrificed her life to save his, he had single-handedly and completely unknowingly brought He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named down the first time, causing him to go into hiding, barely alive, for fourteen years.  Surviving with nothing but the lightning bolt scar to show that anything at all had happened, Harry had become famous.  That scar was more famous than he was, and now it was gone.

"Wow" was all he could say.  Harry sat back down on the bed.  That scar had connected him to Voldemort, it had acted as a claxon, warning him when the Dark Lord was near.  Now it was gone.  Perhaps, that meant that Voldemort was truly gone too.  "Wow."

* * *

The sun was beginning to set when the young woman got up and decided to go out and look at her surroundings.  Trying to stay hidden from view, she held to the shadows going around the large house then down the drive to the street.  Although not brightly lit, there were several streetlights burning so she moved slowly and carefully towards the small town beyond.  She was hoping to find some wash hanging out to dry, so that she could get some more decent clothes but no one seemed to be doing laundry, or at least no one was air drying it. 

Closer towards town she caught the smell of fish and chips.  It was a small street-side shop where a passer-by could order from a sidewalk window and then continue on his way eating his dinner as he went.  The smell awakened the hunger within her.  She didn't know when she ate last but she guessed it must have been quite some time ago.  Looking up and down the street she saw a few people but none of them seemed the least bit interested in her, so she decided to take a chance.  As casually as she could she walked up to the window and ordered "one, please, to go" and placed one of the silver coins on the counter.

"Here now.  Wha's this supposed t' be?"  The proprietor was large, greasy and quite unpleasant.  "If's ya's wan' food, ya'll have to pay for it.  And with Pounds, not this trash."

He picked up the silver coin and held it to the light.  "Wha's this anyway?  Where's it from?"

Not knowing what else to do, she ran, leaving the vexed man standing in the window of the shop still holding the coin.  She ran as far as she could but, given her state of fatigue and injuries, that wasn't far.  Cradling her injured arm to her body she stopped in the shadows of an alleyway.  Her breath coming in heaves.  Getting food was obviously going to be more difficult than she had hoped.  This was not going well.  She looked about her as she desperately tried to think.  

She was in an alley with rubbish bins on both sides.  Evidently there was a restaurant on the left because the bin was full of tossed scraps.  She didn't like the idea of eating garbage but was seriously considering it when she noticed a bag sitting at the back of the bin.  She carefully reached over the garbage, not wanting to get any filthier than she already was, and picked it up.  It was a doggie bag filled with leftovers.  Eating someone else's leftovers was slightly more appealing than eating garbage and the rumbles of her stomach overcame any further objection.  Taking the bag she moved out of the alley and down the street.  At the corner was a bus stop with a bench and here she sat down to eat.  Inside the bag was an aluminum dish with a small amount of ravioli and two pieces of garlic bread.  It must have been a fairly good restaurant because even cold the ravioli was excellent and she sat watching traffic while she ate.

The stop was located at an intersection.  Across the street was a Laundromat called "The Laundry Corner" and there were several people, all women, inside doing their wash.  While she ate and temporarily solved one of her problems, she saw a chance to solve the other, clean clothes.  She watched the women carefully, three were about her size.  She waited to see if she would get a chance.  One woman finished folding her wash and left.  One down and two to go, she thought.  The second woman settled into one of the plastic chairs and began to read a tabloid magazine.  Two down.  The third woman stood leaning against a row of washers watching her loads go round and round in the dryers.  Finishing one cigarette she patted her pockets looking for another.  The woman on the bench leaned forward.  Nothing in her pockets, number three reached for her bag and started rummaging around.

"Don't be there.  Don't be there."  She was leaning forward, almost falling off the bench, concentrating with all her might.  Willing the bag to be empty.

The woman finally gave up, there were no more there and tossed her bag on top of a washer.  She looked about the shop for a vending machine but found none.  Finally, with a glance at her watch and another at the dryers, she picked up her bag again and walked towards the door.  At the same time, the woman left her seat at the bus stop and started to make her way across the street.  Waiting for a sedan to pass, she crossed and reached the door seconds after the other woman turned to walk down the street.  She would only have a few minutes at most so she had to work quickly.  Woman number two was still buried behind her magazine as she reached the dryers and opened one.  Reaching into the still wet clothes, she searched for something suitable.  There, a T-shirt, that would do fine.  Now if she could only find a pair of shorts or something.  No luck.  Turning to the second machine she resumed her search.  Finally, she found a pair of jeans that she hoped would fit.  Rolling her finds into a tight bundle she turned to the door.  A few more steps and she would be outside.  She turned for one last check on number two...

"Well now, is there something I can help you with?"

Spinning back she saw that her way to the door was blocked.  Another woman whom she hadn't even noticed was standing between her and her escape.

"It's not nice to steal other people's clothes."

* * *

The uniform darkness surrounding him changed, Harry realized he was flying, flying through thick black smoke,  he nudged the firebolt upward trying to climb out and gain some vision.  He broke out of the smoke and saw below him the expanse of countryside.  There were rolling hills with a ring of forest surrounding a huge estate.  At the center, amid a cluster of formal gardens and buildings stood a castle, not the turreted and moated castle that was Hogwarts but one less martial, more of a palace than a castle.  It stood four stories tall, with short square towers at the corners.  It was Beauxbatons, like Hogwarts a school of magic, and it was under attack.  

To his left Harry saw a great sea of black seething along the ground towards the ruins of a building.  Cornelius Fudge had said that there were no more than a few hundred Dementors around the world, but that had been just another of his lies; there were thousands of them below.  An army of soul-sucking monsters ready to do the Dark Lord's bidding.  Facing them were a hundred giants led by Sirius Black.  Black stood alone atop the ruined building, directing the giants and using his wand to throw stones torn from the broken walls around him at the incoming tide of Dementors.  Harry watched as several hundred Dementors emerged from the woods behind Sirius.  Gliding up unseen from behind, they would soon overwhelm the place where Sirius stood.  Harry had to do something, removing his wand from beneath his robe, he touched it to his throat and whispered, "Sonorus".  Then he pointed the wand at this new wave of Dementors and his now magically amplified voice rang "Expecto Patronum!"  Silver magic erupted from the tip of his wand and flowed towards the Dementors like a tsunami.  It took on the form of a stag, but amplified it was the size of a bull elephant as it tore into the black army, using its huge antlers to throw a dozen of them at a time into the air.  The sudden appearance of the Patronus broke the attack but four of the monsters managed to close in on their target.  Harry was madly trying to think of what to do next when a dusky blur descended and attacked the four remaining Dementors.  It was a hippogriff, a magical creature half horse and half eagle, and rearing on its hind legs like a stallion it tore into the Dementors with its talons.  Its name was Buckbeak, also wrongly condemned by the corrupted Ministry of Magic, he had escaped with Sirius and they had become inseparable.  Sirius turned and in an instant saw what was happening.  With a leap, he mounted the still fighting hippogriff and joined the fray.  The hippogriff's long talons tore one Dementor in two while Sirius threw a boulder the size of a small car to crush three more.

As each Dementor was destroyed, no one could use the word kill because no one was sure if Dementors were truly alive, clouds of mist escaped it.  Dementors sucked out the living souls from their victims and held them captive, deriving strength from tormenting them.  With the destruction of the Dementor these souls were released again and the air was rife with their tortured screams.  Harry took a pair of omnioculars from a pocket of his robes and trained them on the scene.  Harry zoomed in on Sirius, his long black hair tossed about, his gaunt face lit by a maniacal fury.  Looking at him, Harry knew that there would be no retreat this day, or mercy.  The setting of the sun would see the death of Sirius Black or the final destruction of the Dementors.

Tearing his eyes away from this scene Harry looked to his right.  There was Voldemort, surrounded by a protective ring of Deatheaters.  They were backing their way up a short hill.  Voldemort had trained his minions well.  They formed a tight phalanx around him, the front row crouched and maintained a steady flow of defensive spells and counter curses while the inner ring fired their curses at the oncoming attackers.  Voldemort laughed as he added his power to the attacks.  Facing them and making slow progress were about two dozen wizards and witches, led by Dumbledore.  Gone was his demeanor of the kind and aging headmaster, Albus Dumbledore stood there as what he truly was, the most powerful wizard in the world, his silver hair and beard shone about him like an aura.  To his right was Remus Lupin, on his left stood Arthur Weasley, his head of bright red hair shining in the sunlight.  Looking along the line of fighters Harry saw other heads of the same red hair that told him at least three other Weasleys were in the fight as well.  Voldemort and his men had gained the top of the hill and were successfully repelling the onslaught.  The attack had stalled and with a flash from one of the Deatheaters' wands Harry saw a Weasley fall.  Harry turned in midair and, like a hawk, stooped to the attack.  He wondered if the Wronski Feint had ever been used during battle before as he urged the broomstick to its fastest speed.  The circle of Deatheaters formed the perfect target with the Dark Lord in the center.  The wind whipped his hair and the ground grew alarmingly close.  At full speed and the last possible second, Harry wrenched the stick up, the toes of one shoe actually brushing the grass, and skidded around in a tight circle.  Startled by his sudden appearance, the Deatheaters stumbled, falling over each other as Harry sideswiped three of them.  Harry spun the broomstick to face Voldemort himself and kicked off.  Falling backward to avoid being struck, Voldemort screamed as he rolled on the ground.

"Get him, you fools!  Kill Potter!"

Harry jinked the stick around to his right then back to his left.  As always, the Firebolt responded as if it were a part of him.  The searing red bolts of hexes flew past on either side of him as Harry dodged as quickly as he could.  Gaining altitude, Harry turned his head and saw a beam of rose colored light shoot up towards him from Dumbledore's wand.  Harry immediately spun and dove straight towards it.  It blossomed into a glowing bubble and Harry shot through the outer skin just an instant ahead of a dozen curses.  The magic of the bubble destroyed the curses and changed their energy into a deluge of bubbles that clung to Harry until the wind swept them away.  Harry brought the broomstick down just behind the line of wizards and drew his own wand again to join the fight.

"Crucio!" shouted Dumbledore and three of the Deatheaters fell, contorting in agony.

The phalanx was broken.  All around him, Voldemort saw his protection failing.  Spinning in a circle, his hand flew beneath his robe searching for something; a hidden portkey.  Knowing what was about to happen, two of the remaining Deatheaters flung out their hands and grasped the Black One's robes before he disappeared.  Their leader gone, the remaining Deatheaters were quickly overwhelmed as they dropped their wands and begged for mercy.

"Blast, gone again!" shouted Lupin, "How many of those things has he got!"

Hermione Granger, covered with dirt and with leaves tangled in her bushy brown hair, quickly dropped to the ground and began to unroll a large map.

"Harry, go back aloft and see if you can tell which direction he went in." said Dumbledore quietly.  The rest of them were panting from their exertion but Dumbledore stood calmly, only the debris on his robes told the tale of his efforts.  Harry immediately kicked off from the ground and rose slowly to a height of about a hundred feet.  Slowly, he circled, searching with his scar.  It was burning, as it always did when Voldemort was nearby or feeling particularly murderous.  Harry circled again, trying to feel the direction of the pain.  He shut his eyes and tried again, he could feel something, a slight increase in the pain as he faced a certain direction.  Careful not to open his eyes, so as to shut out any distraction, he went back and forth, narrowing down his motion until he was certain which direction caused the most pain.  That was where the Dark One lay waiting for him and that was where he would go.  Harry opened his eyes and looked in the direction the pain in his scar came from.  Taking sight of a distant object to keep his bearings he lowered himself down to the ground.  As his feet hit the ground, Hermione rushed up to him.

"Which direction, Harry."

"That way," pointing with his fingers, "Towards that tall tree poking over the steeple there."

Hermione looked in the direction Harry was pointing then raised a muggle compass to her line of sight.  As adept as most wizards were at magic, simple non-magical devices, such as this compass, confounded them.  Hermione was Muggle-born and here, as on many other occasions, it came to great use.  She took a sighting on the distant object then read the bearing from the compass.  Then setting the compass on the map she drew a line from their current position in the direction Harry had indicated.  She sat looking at the map, trying to find some location along the line that would be Voldemort's destination.  It struck her like a thunderbolt.  Hermione stood, her face ashen.

"Oh no…  Hogwarts!"

Harry awoke with a shudder, out of instinct his hand went to his forehead but there was nothing there, no pain and no scar.  He sat up in bed and looked out the window as the rose colored fingers of dawn stretched their way across the clouds.  Another nightmare, only they weren't nightmares, they were memories.  In his dreams he had relived them all.  All the scenes of that last, weeks long, battle with the Dark Lord.  From England, to Romania.  From Romania to Mongolia, then to Egypt,  then Durmstrang, then Beauxbatons.  Now the only thing left was the final meeting, here at Hogwarts where Voldemort was finally finished.  And Dumbledore.  Harry dreaded seeing that again.  He hoped he wouldn't have to but deep inside he knew he couldn't avoid it.  Seeing Dumbledore die, as his parents had died, saving him.  It was his fault.

Next, Chapter Two: Reparations and Preparations


End file.
